A long boring story about my day
My day started at about 2 a.m. with the screaming. Grabbed Roob to feed her and when her face made contact it burned me. Holy crap, she is going to spontaniously combust, I thought and started her on the Advil. As you can imagine, Goldie was next. By morning, however, both of the fevers seemed under control and when my friend Tanya called I was like, "sure, we're still on for breakie, see you in 30." And off we went because really? Eggs Benedict can cure anything. That turned out well and we even had time to get to the park before naps.
I got the girls down and logged into work, but after an hour and a half my lids were drooping and I was all screw this and headed off to naptown myself for The Most Amazing Nap of My Life. I was so cozy, comfy and wrapped in rainbows and cotton candy that before I knew it it was Four. Thirty. My children had slept for going on 5 hours. Fevers aren't all bad.
Then Davey got home and was all, um, have you noticed that every stitch of clothes/bedding/towels we own is dirty? Nope. Sure didn't, I was sleeping. Oh well, why not toss in a load and make myself a hero ,no? Now, there has been a funky smell in my house for a few days. We kept emptying various garbages and even braving the shower one by one hoping to eliminate the offender to no avail. As I walked down the stairs to the laundry room I was all "FOUND IT" and discovered a massive, stinking, foul puddle in my laundry room that was full of food. We no longer eat in the basement. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. There is a major backup. We are screwed until we find a Rooter type person. Or move.
I had been hoping to spend part of my weekend doing pleasant things, as I am sending Goldie to Camp Barb for a night, but it looks like it will be spent doing laundry and possibly hitting up the JC Penny's Big and Tall section because there is a sale until midnight and you know that there is nothing more I love than to go the mall on a weekend, in the middle of the night to find the mens XLT shirts. A fucking riot.
Since Barb is also my lactation consultant, the first thing I will say to her when I drop Goldie off at her house will be "LOOK AT MY BOOBS" because, after a nice, calm, pain-free stretch ,Christ on a Cracker, I think she is not biting, but CHEWING on my knockers with her new puppy tooth. MAKE IT STOP.
It's really sort of amazing that I have any friends at all.
I got the girls down and logged into work, but after an hour and a half my lids were drooping and I was all screw this and headed off to naptown myself for The Most Amazing Nap of My Life. I was so cozy, comfy and wrapped in rainbows and cotton candy that before I knew it it was Four. Thirty. My children had slept for going on 5 hours. Fevers aren't all bad.
Then Davey got home and was all, um, have you noticed that every stitch of clothes/bedding/towels we own is dirty? Nope. Sure didn't, I was sleeping. Oh well, why not toss in a load and make myself a hero ,no? Now, there has been a funky smell in my house for a few days. We kept emptying various garbages and even braving the shower one by one hoping to eliminate the offender to no avail. As I walked down the stairs to the laundry room I was all "FOUND IT" and discovered a massive, stinking, foul puddle in my laundry room that was full of food. We no longer eat in the basement. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. There is a major backup. We are screwed until we find a Rooter type person. Or move.
I had been hoping to spend part of my weekend doing pleasant things, as I am sending Goldie to Camp Barb for a night, but it looks like it will be spent doing laundry and possibly hitting up the JC Penny's Big and Tall section because there is a sale until midnight and you know that there is nothing more I love than to go the mall on a weekend, in the middle of the night to find the mens XLT shirts. A fucking riot.
Since Barb is also my lactation consultant, the first thing I will say to her when I drop Goldie off at her house will be "LOOK AT MY BOOBS" because, after a nice, calm, pain-free stretch ,Christ on a Cracker, I think she is not biting, but CHEWING on my knockers with her new puppy tooth. MAKE IT STOP.
It's really sort of amazing that I have any friends at all.
posted by Kirsten at
9:06 PM
4 Comments:
OMG -- you are so lucky. I would give my left tit away (and that is the good one, BTW!!) for someone to take my kids overnight. Only time I haven't been here at the asscrack of dawn for L is when I was giving birth!
Oh wait -- there was a business trip, but since that involved almost 18 hours of work in a 24 hour time period, it is not quite the relaxing vaca one would hope for.
oh yeah, babysitter, that would so rock. I have not been away from my kids since the littlest was born in March. Oh, wait, there was that 1/2 stretch where I went to the store and they were all sleeping so daddy watched them... oh boy!
I know what you mean about the piranha child ripping up the boob. Mine cut the 2nd one on H'ween nite. Now... ow is all i can say.
Oh my God, I would so be your friend, even if you made me look at your boobs. Because you make me laugh and even bitten boobies cannot take THAT away.....
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA
I agree, that was totally funny... um, in an I'm-not-laughing-at-your-boob-pain sort of way.
Came by way of NaBloPoMo, lest you think I Googled for "bite boobie" and ended up here.
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